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Summary:September 23, 2014: Luke Cage and Lynette Shackleford find themselves adjacent to the testing of a deadly chemical agent; their responses to the crisis are as different as they are extraordinary.

It's the middle of rush-hour a complete gridlock having set in across new york as everyone seems to have some important place that they needed to be ten minutes ago. For a large number of people it seems the subway is the only reasonable way to get around town. Everywhere you look just more and more people all trying to get somewhere.

Whenever a train does pull in it's not long at all before it's filled completely to the brim, people packing in as tightly as they can. It'd be easy just to get lost in the crowd with how packed things are, but just in time another car pulls right into the station.

"Bloody—" Lynette Shackleford is one of those who don't fit in amongst the crowds of briefcase-laden suits and bag-toting skirts. She's dressed in an impossibly short skirt, obscene heels, bright purple tights, and a shredded t-shift that reads 'YOLF BITCHES'. "Maggots!" She's trying to edge her way through the crowd and I to the subway, cursing along the way.

She's finally able to get aboard, only to find one of the studs from her leather jacket caught on some businessman's bag. "Sorry luv," the Scott quips, and yanks her jacket free violently, sending aforementioned stud rolling to the floor. "Christ, swear to fucking God this one had better meet the L-train."

Luke Cage has been on the train for some time, now. He'd managed to wrangle a seat for the first leg of his journey, but several stops ago, an old couple came aboard and he did what came naturally to him.

Juggling an armload of clothing bags and baby toys while hanging onto the railing is a whole lot tougher than just making sure none of it tipped over or got stolen, but being a decent human being is totally worth a little bit of inconvenience. Or so he reminds himself every time the train lurches to a halt and the elders stay put.

This time, his disappointed glance back at the pair is interrupted by a stream of profanity; his eyes snap towards Lynette, who he does a double take at before turning his gaze to the nearest window with a thin frown.

"One'a them days, eh?" he dryly comments. He can't pick the stud up, but he can lean out and block the thing from getting too far with his foot.

As the train rockets and rattles along the track, things seem calm as can be expected for rush hour. People talking loudly on cellphones, the occasional baby crying, or homeless man calling out as he's accidentally kicked. The stops roll by one after another a few people getting out and more getting in.

However a few cars ahead a man in a dark business suit, with a large briefcase boards the subway. Finding a spot near the middle of the train, he blends in with the crowds, no one noticing the small pin on the lapel of his jacket. No one pays him too much mind, as the doors close and the train starts up again.

Hazel-green eyes snap over toward Luke Cage, then drop to notice him protecting her wayward stud. Those eyes then drift back up toward Cage, and she catches her bottom lip between teeth. Had it not been so noisy in here, one may have noticed a quiet growl.

"Free booze at Union Pool only lasts til seven, luv," she answers. "Every minute means one less drink." She edges her way through a group of people, rudely, and shoves a hand out toward Luke. "Lynette. Shackleford." Then, she sniffs, and reaches the cuff of her jacket up to rub at her nose. Must be something stuck up there.

Man in business suit? Just another bloody stiff, getting in her way.

"Luke Cage." He would shake her hand, but— his are a little busy at the moment; the best he can do is twisting his body so that he's able to graze her palm with a briefly held fist, and as soon as he's done, he takes a second to readjust his bags.

"Guess it won't matter what kinda day it was once you make it there," he observes. He's wearing a Dakota Sharks tanktop with jeans and boots, one of which he shifts just enough to give her easy access to the stud. "Just gotta make sure you get there in one piece."

In short order the next stop has come and gone, several people getting off of the train in a large burst giving a bit more room to move around. Even the man in his business suit is already getting off at this stop, looking down towards his watch as he heads off. Though to the keen eye it would be clear that he is missing something that should be rather important to him: his briefcase.

The doors slide back closed and the train is off rocking along the underground track. There are even a few actual seats open in the car. So it's a bit surprising when someone in the cars ahead can be heard loudly screaming.

The red-haired Scott laughs. "Oy! One piece don't matter, cause whiskey'll put you back together again!" Dreamraker smiles brightly at Luke, before crouching down and snatching her wayward stud free. Might as well reconnect this one, so that she might save the others for her recent stilleto project.

"So," she says, turning back toward Luke with a saucy expression upon her face. "You…" Muscles. It's the next word on the hellion's mind, before the screaming has her jerking her head toward the cars ahead. "The fuck?" she blurts out.

Just as Luke turns a bemused expression upon Lynette, screaming cuts across the rumbling of the train and murmurs of its occupants; the musclebound man with baby stuff in his arms snaps his widening eyes on the door separating their car from the next, then casts a momentary glance down at a day's worth of shopping.

"Watch this for me, would you?"" he murmurs to Lynette as he lets everything fall from his arms. Afterwards, he shouts, "Aight, if I come back t' find any'a this missin'— " and takes off running towards the door; just before crashing through it he finishes, "— there's gonna be hell to pay!"

He is, of course, already making a checklist of stuff he'll have to schlep into the city to buy all over again the next time he can get the money together; sigh.

His plan consists entirely of running and jumping from car to car until he finds the one with something worth screaming over; once he knows what the problem is, he'll worry about trying to find a way to solve it. Tactical wizardry like this is why they pay him the big bucks for heroing.

As he shoves his way along it would become obvious that the source is closer then it sounded. Through the first car there are a number of people just looking at the door, unable to take their eyes away. The window is fogged up with a pure white, a heavy pounding on the door itself. No one seems willing to actually try to open it or even pull the emergency stop, they just watch the fogged window.

Inside people try their best to scream out for help, to reach for the emergency stop if they can find it, but there's nothing it's all just melting away in the heavy mist. Someone inside is trying their hardest to slam the door open, in the chaos but with no luck. There's no telling how long people might last in whatever this stuff is.

Lynette positively pouts when Luke takes off, but crouches down to gather the things together. "Pig-headed bastart," she quips to herself. "Like I gotta steal to…" Well, she does. Sometimes. But technically, it's not 'stealing' per say.

She's halfway through peeking into one of the bags when the man crashes through the doors, drawing her eyes back upward with a look of unbridled excitement. "Fantastic!" she exclaims.

Then, the white stuff appears upon the window. Lynette stares at it for a long moment, before she drops Luke's bags and recoils a bit. This… was not her doing. This was no nightmare; it was real.

The bags are full of clothes and toys; some of the clothes are much, much larger and less pastel than the others, but most are baby-sized.

Luke stops about three quarters of the way to the fogged up window; the fog makes it impossible to tell what exactly is going on in there, but the screams tell him that opening the door and exposing this car to it might not be the most responsible decision. Instead, he settles for doing what nobody else has been willing to: rushing over to the emergency brake and engaging it.

"I'm gettin' you outta there," he shouts towards the doors as he does so, eyes darting between the fog, the brake, and the other passengers. "Soon as this thing— the fuck are y'all doin'?!" The last is directed towards the other passengers, and it's accompanied by an incredulous look at one of them. "Any'a y'all with coverage— 9-1-1! Now!"

Ultimately, his eyes end up glued on the door; assuming the train does stop, they'll remain there even as he rides out the loss of inertia and drums his fingers impatiently against the piece of the car he's braced against. Could that be gas in the next car? A fire?

Some kind of demonic incursion? One never really knows anymore in the city; regardless of what it is, of course, he's powerless to do anything about it until the safety of everyone else isn't quite so big of an issue.

The train begins screeching to a halt the screams of the people inside getting louder then before, as whatever is going on beyond the smoke takes place. Several of the people who had been too shocked to do much of anything reach down and begin dialing on their cellphones at about the same time. Though by the looks whatever is inside of there is starting to leak out from under the door, and through the rubber sealant around the window itself.

Lynette looks from the door to Luke, then back again. Fists begin to clench as it sets in. Someone is trying to kill her!

Painted nails rise to curl around a pole, before Lynette's eyes drift closed. "Fuck sake, you pig-headed man," she murmurs to herself, "you better keep an eye out for me."

Something happens in the telepathic plane. One by one, the passengers of the car ahead begin to drop into a deep sleep, relieving them of their suffering. It might seem like a move of compassion, but in truth, the woman is searching… searching through dreams and nightmares of the suffering, looking for some clue as to what may have happened. What might be prompting this. She has no idea whether or not the culprit has already left the train, so for now, the young woman's oneiropathic mastery only serves to silence the car of it's screams, making things a bit less… shall we say… horrific.

When an entire car full of mysterious white smoke and screaming people falls inexplicably silent, Luke actually staggers away from the door— and then a few steps further along the car until he catches himself again; his eyes are wide with shock, and if it weren't for the smoke beginning to seep through the cracks in the window and door, he would likely remain frozen until the train finally came to a halt.

All those people, just— like— that; it must be poison.

"Back— " he calls, barely above speaking volume before clearing his throat. "Get back— get to the car behind us!" He strips his top off as he shouts and works his way towards the door, intent on jamming it underneath to cut some of the flow of whatever that white stuff is off. He turns his head towards Lynette as he works, and before taking in a breath to hold he calls to the redhead, "You— use that loud voice'a yours, help me get these people movin'! If we can get this car sealed off, I can see what the hell happened in the next one!""

Luke isn't the only one to back away when the screaming stops. In fact most of the car is backing up, a good few of them running right for the door, trying to get as far away from this thing as possible. They're in a panic, the kind of panic that's already causing a few people to jump from the train and onto the tracks, despite the vehicle still being mid slowdown. Some are trampled some hit the ground wrong, but for certain everyone is panicking.

By the time the train has slowed down to a stop the car is already mostly empty, most of the people having left one way or another. Though when Luke goes to push the shirt under the door, the gas burns his hand just with slight contact, already eating away at the fabric, chewing through it as if it were nothing.

Lynette opens her eyes when Luke addresses her. Perhaps she was praying? She just can't help but let a bit of the viciousness that is in her nature to show through in the way she leers at him, before pulling herself upright with the grasp she has upon that pole

So many horrible nightmares. It's like a drug to her, a thing that tempts her to extend her power to everyone within this car as well. But, that would leave her helpless against the smoke that is seeping in. So, with a roll of her eyes, she turns around.

With the car nearly emptied, she grabs some shell shocked suit, hustling him to the car's rear door and shoving him through. "Stupid, fucking…"

Now alone in the car with Luke, she turns back to look from the distance, eyes wide. For a moment, Lynette herself seems shell shocked, but it's not from anything she sees with her eyes. It's the nightmares, coming from the victims in the car ahead. So horrible, so painful, so… delicious. The young woman licks her lips and digs fingers into the arms of her jacket.

"Sweet— !" Luke hardly has time to focus on Lynette's leering, because whatever is coming through the door burns and forces him to yank his hands away on reflex.

No wonder everyone went so fast; his skin is is already bubbling with fresh wounds where the smoke kissed it. He can scarcely imagine what it must have done to them.

He does a quick check behind himself as he scrambles up to his feet, and— Lynette is still with him; now that he knows what he's dealing with, though, taking the door down already seems like a rather unattractive option, so her continued presence just cements the need for a Plan B. "You good?" he wonders of her, shaking his hands out as he heads for the side doors. "Promise you'll get your free drink when this' over." He gives the Scot a firm nod that's meant to assure her - and, really, him - that there won't be any more casualties before he turns his attention to digging his fingers into the doors and forcing them open. As soon as he does, he'll continue digging his fingers into the metal car, because his next move is to crawl up on top of it.

Plan B, as it currently stands, is venting the contaminated car from the top and praying that he doesn't inadvertantly kill some number of New Yorkers beyond the doomed car in the process; it isn't a particularly pretty plan, but fortunatelly, his name is not 'Finesse Man'.

The shirt is already gone, and small amounts of this mist continue to flow out from the car, but instead of carrying on and filling up the next car and the next it seems to dissipate. In its wake it seems the metal has been perfectly untouched, with markings eaten clean away.

When Luke makes it to the top by the looks some of the gas has already started leaking its way through the top, the room clearing itself out to an extent. Though everything seems oddly quiet without the sound of the screaming from the cabin, or the panicked movements of the trains filled with people. From this angle it becomes even more apparent that the gas that is leaking out only makes it so far before dissipating.

Such torment! All it would take is a little focus, a surge of oneiropathic energy across the Seonaidh Plane, and she might have knocked Luke out as well, joining his dreams with the nightmares of the dying. And yet… muscles, the promise of a free drink, and the simple fact that she's among those this man is trying to save!

Utterly conflicted, she bites her knuckles and nods rapidly to Luke in response. Yeah, she's good.

Once Luke has climbed out, however? Lynette spooks, and abruptly pulls the door to go back to the car behind her. It's empty. So, she keeps on going, into the next car. And the next one. Once there, she eyes the stragglers inside, and makes a slicing gesture with her hand. Four people slump to the ground, their bodies twitching while their consciousness is merged with the suffering of those at ground zero. Eyes brood as she walks down the aisle, bent on making as many of these saps suffer.

She's an opportunistic villain, after all.

The gas already having begun to vent itself - and moreover, dissipating in relatively short order - is good. The searing wisps leaking out of the top do, however, presage trouble for his efforts to help the ventilation process; just as he peels enough of the roof aside to make an opening, he has to stop and wrench away to avoid the mist that pours through the new hole, and that still isn't enough to stop a few tendrils of it from rolling across his exposed upper body and leaving ugly furrows.

One small tear isn't enough, though; the sooner that stuff is allowed to dissipate, the better. Which means taking in a deep breath, gritting his teeth, and clambering back to that twisted bit of metal so that he can continue opening the subway up like a metal banana. He is able to keep his teeth clenched throughout the initial moments of gas rolling over his hands and arms, but soon enough, he's emitting low groans that eventually become clipped cries of pain as unbreakable skin is burned away by snow-white poison.

Through the smoke it's hard to see much of anything, but what can be seen is a startling lack of bodies. Already in such a short span of time they just seem to be gone outright. The white mist raises faster from the train car, again leaving everything in its wake completely spotless. As even more of the metal is ripped away, and the smoke has chance to clear billfolds, watches, and credit cards can be seen strewn about the floor, even metal hips, and dental fillings lay scattered about.

Lynette's steps slow when she recognizes… something. Something deliciously horrible. She's forced to steady herself when a multitude of conscious thoughts simply go away; the final deaths of those in the targeted car. Her hands tremble a bit as those left alive, yet trapped under her oneiropathic power, suffer the psycotrauma of experiencing so many deaths. It's a sure bet that when some of them wake up, they're gonna need therapy.

With a gasp, she finally release her control, letting the survivors awaken. There are cries of terror, as if half the train suddenly woke from some horrific nightmare, and a few of the passengers go so far as to vomit.

As for Lynette? She curls herself up into a ball, rocking back and forth to feign innocence while waiting for the police to arrive.

"HrrRRAAAAAGH!"

With one last grunt of effort/howl of pain, Luke Cage leaves the strip of metal dangling from the back of the car; after taking a moment just to let the burning subside a little, he sucks in another lungful of air, then moves around to observe the damage inside. Maybe some of the passengers didn't die— maybe they're just unconscious, or—

The Hero for Hire stares into the ominously pristine car for a few disbelieving seconds, and then after a shuddering exhalation, he fills his lungs one more time and drops into the hole to look for some sign of what could have possible caused such a disaster. He's no detective, though, and there may still be mist to contend with; once he's made a quick sweep for glaringly apparent clues, he intends to force his way through those doors so that he can wait for the police somewhere a little less depressing.

The whole place is spotless, even the paint having been stripped away. If it weren't for the damage that Luke had caused himself this carriage could probably have gone right back into use after replacing some of the ropes. Several small handguns lay on the ground as well in perfect condition, along with the wristwatches, and a fair few wedding rings. On one of the seats a small toy soldier sits atop a jacket that somehow had survived the incident, and near by is what looks like the remains of what had at one point been a briefcase.

On the bright side it seems that most of the mist has harmlessly dissipated off into the aether. So the Luke has no problems making his way around. As he goes for the doors to the train a pair of gloves can be seen that had been holding onto the door, along with a pair of pants, and another jacket. Something about it has left several sets of clothes on the ground just fine.

Off in the distance a number of screams ring out again, sounds of retching fallowing behind. Another instance of whatever this was, or something new? The only thing for certain is that someone is having a bad day.